I Know Where You Are
by firsttimefan
Summary: Post 5.05, Beckett and Castle think of a way to alibi him out.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Not mine. **

**This was the start of a multi fic called 20 questions, but I thought I'd share the first chapter as it may take a long time to write the rest.**

**Enjoy.**

"You're going to want to put ice on that," Castle whispered, shifting his weight on to one elbow on his mattress so he could run his lips over the cruel, raised _X_ carved high into her cheekbone. The residual taste of the alcohol swipes had faded away and now it only left a faint after taste of salt. Salt from blood and salt from sweat.

To put ice on it would mean she left his bed though.

"I might," Kate muttered, her voice clogged and weighed down by impending sleep. "If you ever stop kissing it."

He didn't say anything, but he did move his lips away and content himself with docking his nose into the space exposed behind the nape of her neck where the radiating heat was all her, all them and not the heat of inflamed tissue.

He knew he was holding her too tight, their limbs tangled together more forcefully than normal for them. He could feel the faint press of her vertebrae against his chest, the bone of her knee between his own and her elbow digging into the outside of his arm where it had snuck between her arm and her ribs to pull her closer still. Every deep breath she took pressed puckered skin more fully into his palm.

It wasn't unusual for him to seek out her scar to rest his hand on, especially after she had once sleepily admitted the heat kept it warm and pliant, staving off sudden twinges and contractions from the cold. Tonight though he was drawn to it, trying to soothe the way his mind was drawn to the gasp she made when she fell to the ground with bullet casings still airborne.

He forced his fingers to relax their hold when he felt them start to pierce skin.

"Hey," she murmured drowsily. "It's okay. We're both fine."

"Yeah," he forced out.

"You got him."

He just shook his head stubbornly, his nose catching a little in the locks of her hair tangled at her neck. If Tyson had planned everything down to the raising of the bridge, there was no way he was stupid enough to confront an armed cop without Kevlar. Castle had been told he thought like and could get into the mind of serial killers; well, if it were him, Kevlar would have been the first thing he thought of. There was no way Jerry Tyson would have overlooked that.

Kate turned slowly in his arms to face him, arching her back so she could see his face, a little of her sleepiness falling out of her face as she registered the taught muscles of her partner.

"Castle," she brought a hand up from where she had let them nest between them and held it to his face. "Even if he had a vest, you're a good shot; the grouping was too tight. A vest wouldn't have resisted all those shots. You have to let this go."

"I can't," he croaked.

"Castle, please."

"They didn't find him. They didn't even find the vest."

"Because it was so heavy it held him under. Think about it," she tried to reason with him. "He would have had to take off the jacket and shirt he had on to get at the vest if he had one and all of this after falling all that way. He wouldn't have had any air left to do it after that fall or after taking all those bullets."

"So you're saying the weight of the vest pulled him under and took him down the river?"

"I'm saying let us have tonight, okay? We can start a search tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," he repeated on a deep breath.

"Tomorrow," she said firmly sliding her fingers up into his hair and dragging his face down to hers. He was a little slow to respond but she let the kick of heat at the scrape of stubble wake her up and her second wind to encourage him to leave behind the shadows just for a little while.

She used her teeth to pull at his lower lip, teasing him into releasing the seal of his lips so she could press inside and flirt with his tongue in the warmth briefly before retreating and waiting for him to follow. A low groan at the loss vibrated against her teeth pleasantly reverberated in her throat through her open mouth still panting slightly against his.

"Kate," he breathed, sucking at the corner of her mouth and then down to her jaw.

"I'm here," she gasped.

"So lucky," he rasped, his hands starting to encompass her again. "God, so lucky."

"He didn't get me, Castle."

"Not you," he frowned enough she felt it against her forehead. "Me. I'm so lucky you're here." His arms winched her in closer. "You didn't give up on me."

"Luck has nothing to do with it."

"You got me out," he breathed, the underlying incredulity settled uncomfortably in her stomach. Had he ever thought she wouldn't? Sometimes he could be so clueless, so reluctant to believe. It would take time, but she was going to change that. She never wanted him to doubt anything between them anymore.

"I helped," Kate reminded him. "Technically, you got yourself out," She watched her fingers in the haze of city lights through the curtains as they ran circuits up and down his jaw. "I think you'll remember the DA was less than happy about that."

"I'll make it up to him."

"Just don't do it again," she warned him, her voice too tight to achieve the joking light she wanted. She raised her eyes to his and saw he was just as intently focused on her hands as she was.

"I can't promise that," his voice was heavy in the room.

"Tyson is…" she started.

"Tyson is missing," Castle sighed. "Which is irrelevant because he won't come after me the same way again; he'll have a completely different M.O. It's just a matter of time before someone else tries to pin something on me the same way."

"You're not serious, are you?" she whispered.

"I know a lot of guys," he shrugged. "And not all of them like me. Fans. Convicts. Some in the writing and publishing sectors." He caught her eyes and offered her a fragile smiling grimace. "So I can't promise you, Kate."

She felt vaguely nauseous at the thought of the wide pool of people who had possible resentments with him. "You'll just have to make sure that you always have an alibi."

"I could go into reality TV," he offered half-heartedly. "Like Kaye Cappuccio."

A snort of laughter escaped without warning, the mirth seeming to take both of the bed's occupants by surprise.

"I could," he protested. "People would definitely pay to watch what I do all day."

She shook her head lightly, burrowing her head into his pillow a little to hide the wide smile.

"I have more talent than she would even know what to do with," Castle argued.

"But she wears a dress better than you."

"Not better than you," he pointed out instantly. "How about it, Kate? Have a crew follow us around and catch us in all of our Sherlock and Holmes, ass-kicking glory? We could call it _The Heat Diaries._ No, no _Working the Beat with Heat_. Good right?"

She was in a little danger of suffocating with her face mashed firmly in the pillow, shaking with suppressed laughter and so grateful that his efforts to cheer her up were lifting his spirits as well.

"Kate?" he poked her side and she twisted away violently, dislodging her face and revealing her flushed state to him. Thankfully he didn't start pouting, apparently more elated at her amusement than put out. "What do you think?"

"No, Castle," she smiled.

"Oh come on. Why not?"

"Why?" she came at the question from the opposite angle.

"Because it would be undeniably awesome."

"No it wouldn't," she corrected, getting herself back in hand.

"Give me one reason to substantiate your illogical theory, Detective," he tried to look challenging but the grin couldn't be held back as he slipped his arm behind her back and drew her closer again.

"Because if we had someone with a camera following us around all the time at work, I wouldn't be able to take you through to that little closet I told you about."

His breath hitched and she knew she had won a point.

"I thought there was a uniform stationed in that hall," he sounded a little breathless.

"Oh, there is," she assured him, shimmying closer until she felt his thigh pressing lightly against her heat. "But I might have finally analysed the roster and break times of the uniforms who get posted there."

"You did?" he choked.

"Mmm Hmm," she hummed next to his ear. "There's just one problem," she inserted a groan and was rewarded with a matching one from him. The muscles under her hand were filling with a different kind of tension to the one which had filled him so far despite the banter.

"What?" his hands skimmed down her ribs to her hips so he could pull her more firmly over his leg, pulling her down until she gasped.

"If there were no cameras following us, we could sneak in."

"Sounds good to me," he replied, his fingers slipping.

"So good," she groaned, her hands clenching into the hair at the nape of his neck.

"But?"

"But?" she repeated, trying to focus.

"How is that a bad thing, Kate?"

"Never said it was a bad thing," she panted. "Just problematic."

"Kate," he grumbled.

"Getting in isn't the problem," she breathed. "Getting out is. We'd have to wait until their next break until the coast was clear to leave. That's four hours between breaks and we'd have to spend it crammed in that little, near abandoned, private..."

He attacked her mouth, but already short on air she rolled against him so he broke away with a curse and they both struggled to regain healthy oxygen saturation levels.

"So if I agree to losing the cameras we can try?" he begged.

"Castle! I'm not disappearing for four hours at work."

"Not even at night?" he pleaded.

"I'd rather take you home for four hours and not worry about noise control or limited space," she teased him. Despite still being a little breathless, need had her moving to hover above him so she could look down at him through her lashes.

He gulped. "Probably lose less brain cells that way, too," he offered weakly.

"So closet or no, Castle, you will not be New York's newest reality star."

"'Kay," he nodded happily enough. She smiled down at him and from where her hands were supported on the bed above him she thumbed his ear, watching as he closed his eyes briefly and relaxed into her touch.

She had almost lost this. According to him, she still could. This whole night had been an awkward see-saw between two polar opposites of joy, relief and despair. As tempting as it was to push their current balance over into joy and wear them out enough sleep would claim them, the same voice plaguing Castle with doubt was staking its claim in her mind now, too.

"But if you're serious, I think it would be a good idea to have a reliable alibi now Alexis isn't always here; for when you're home alone."

The levity his face had gained slipped again and he let his grip on her legs loosen so she could sit over his stomach rather than support herself over his hips, acknowledging the more sober and possible lengthy discussion.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she sighed. "Nothing drastic, just you know… a precaution."

"I'm listening."

"I don't know. We just need a way to prove you're at home when you say you are."

"Nanny cam?" he suggested, his leer a pathetic shadow of the one she wanted to put on his face. "Just over the door so they get comings and goings."

"They'll just say you went out the window."

"And jumped from the fourth floor? The fire escape isn't on this side of the building, Kate."

"Well maybe, I'm actually quite fond of that door," she leaned down to kiss him chastely, trying to loosen the knots she was tying in both of them. This was supposed to be hypothetical yet it was turning more towards war strategies than preventative measures. Why could they never seem to find balance? "And there are some things that should never be potential evidence."

His lips quirked upwards slightly, "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

The smile they shared was soft, shy as they were each caught up in shared memories. It was a few moments before he blinked, physically kick-starting his brain back into gear.

"You could GPS track my phone," he offered.

"So you can leave it behind?" she deadpanned.

"More like we'll be abducted again and I'll have to keep replacing it."

"Microchip?"

"What am I, your dog?"

"You whistle at me all the time," she objected.

"You, Detective are most certainly not a dog."

…

Kate's text came in the next night while he was staring at a pic from Google Earth for the street corner he was going to have Nikki stake out. No matter what he did, he couldn't make out the sign in the window where he knew Beckett would park the car, if it were a real case. Zoom only increased the pixilation. Was it a locksmith? Internet café? Was he going to have to haul his butt out to Jersey to see for himself?

_[Twenty Questions.] _

Castle stared at the small screen displaying his girlfriend's message and waited for the click of mental gears engaging. Whether it was because he was still trying to extricate himself from the latest Rook and Heat adventure, or he just genuinely didn't grasp the meaning, he was unsure. He fired off a reply to that effect. [What?]

He turned to glare at the substandard photo once more. Hell, why not just re-write with a corner he knew well enough or had a good shot of?

_[I pinged your phone. You're at home.] _

[I know; you kicked me out, remember?] He didn't even mind that much; all the stares from the rest of the bullpen were unnerving. He hadn't actually killed anyone, not even Tyson.

_[And you're replying, ergo you are with your phone, at your house.]_

[Excellent deducing, but I'm still lost.]

[_I text, you reply. Anyone can track the signal- where you were when you texted. Not as accurate as GPS, but your genuine replies guarantee your location with the phone – no leaving it behind at home with someone texting for you next time you want to kill someone.]_

[You're going to text me from work when I'm alone at home?] He blinked at the implications behind that. Shouldn't he feel more repressed than happy that she wanted him to keep checking in?

_[Don't try and avoid the questions either.]_

[You're serious.]

_[I have four years worth of questions.]_

He grinned. [Bring it on.]

_[Pass. Leaving now. Don't kill anyone before I get there.]_

He was disappointed, but she knew that - probably had a smirk on her face. He could feel one of his own which surprised him. He wouldn't have dreamed being able to joke about this; and it wasn't even gallows humour. Looking at the last message again though he couldn't suppress it. Kate Beckett was offering to be his alibi. She was practically going to stalk him. Yeah, he should really care more.

…

The next Thursday Martha was out with a fellow thespian. Castle wasn't sure he wanted to know exactly what they were doing, but he didn't care ignoring it if it meant that Kate was staying. Nights Martha was out, Kate stayed. The loft was never empty when he was alone. Those weren't the only nights Kate stayed but they arranged it that way without ever vocalising the reason.

He was manhandling a wok when then text came in.

_[So, what are you wearing?] _

A few minutes later, the reply went out.

[Soy, ginger and coriander.]

…


	2. Chapter 2

**Not mine. I don't know anything about NYC either, so, sorry. Any info on the set up of the city would be appreciated, by internet doesn't like pdf maps at the moment. **

**Thanks to lv2bnsb1 for the reviews every time. **

"Hold it," she caught the hand. When was she going to learn that no matter how tempting he looked on the morning, if she lingered on kissing him goodbye, even when he wasn't conscious, it made things harder?

Maybe the staring before she rolled over to kiss him had jump started his awareness.

"I was going to," he rasped, directing his voice to the crook of her neck, presumably to save her from morning breath and ignoring her order, his hands skating lower over her hips until they were filled, happily copping a feel to start his day. She allowed him his caress, soaking it up to last her the rest of the day which he would be here writing and she would be at the precinct getting through her paperwork without any distractions. A warning jangled along her nerves when the thumbs of said hands began to trip under the edges of her sleep shorts.

"Castle," she chided. "The pants stay on."

He chuckled sleepily, fanning air across her throat. She tried not to squirm. "I'm not wearing any pants."

She gritted her teeth, tightening her grip even further. This was not going any further. She was not showing up to work frustrated. There wasn't enough time.

It was like a mantra Kate Beckett employed on an increasing number of mornings. Unfortunately it seemed familiarity was rendering it less and less effective. The dreaded early morning call outs were a relief because at least then they both implicitly knew there was no time and their bodies couldn't sweet talk themselves around it.

"And neither are you, Detective."

Involuntarily she felt her throat contract and the sheets took on a sweltering, suffocating stickiness. Her breath stuttered and her eyes rolled, taking in the alarm clock and the time continuum swallowing the numbers. She had only rested from her guard duty for a minute, yet something had stolen whole ten.

She was pretty sure she knew who the thief was; she just didn't have time to do anything about it.

"You wouldn't want to wear these little shorts anyway," he continued, the sleep rust clearing into a deeper husk. His stubble was grazing on her collarbones, floating between the spaghetti straps of her tank. The material seemed to have a mind of its own as well, inching up without her consent. She ignored its rebellion because, she reasoned, she needed it off so she could get changed for work.

"Beckett, they're all wet."

Her eyes slammed shut when his criminal hands slipped the bonds of her own and continued their exploration south.

"Change my pants," she nodded. "Got it."

"Off. Now, Beckett. You're going to be late."

…

[Be honest].

She fired off the text with a flushed face before she even looked at the files inexorably deposited on her desk during the night. When he didn't reply straight away she snarled and went to get coffee, cursing self-employed writers who could go back to bed and start writing at any time of the day without anyone telling them they were _late_.

While Kate turned off the steamer, Velasquez skipped the espresso machine in favour of the seldom touched coffee pot, her attention focused more on Beckett's rushed, tousled bun than the rising level of caffeine in her NYPD porcelain mug. Beckett sighed at the stare and lifted her eyes to meet it, watching the older woman flush with a vindictive pleasure. Caught you.

At 8.50 when she went through security, she had thought that being late bore striking resemblances to being early. When she clocked in and cleared security at 8.50 am she was stared at. Because she was late. When she passed the metal detectors and stepped into the familiar elevator at 5.45 am, she got stared at. Because she was early.

The problem was she wasn't decently late. She wasn't late enough to have had an appointment or a meeting and she hadn't radioed in to say she was following a lead. She was just late enough that she was getting knowing stares. She hadn't even reached the fourth floor yet.

She added the hot milk, but her quirk of returning humour at rousting Velasquez was quenched by the reminder of her exit from the elevator to the Homicide Department.

Oh yeah. She felt a desire to snarl at the memory taking hostage for the third time this morning.

"Detective Beckett."

Ryan and Esposito were nowhere in sight though she knew that didn't exclude the high probability they were within easy listening distance. The only thing which stopped her roaming the pen for her two team members was the pencil-skirt clad woman who had interrupted her plan to casually work her way through the desks to her own, avoiding any attention along the way.

"Captain."

Victoria Gates had her reading glasses held casually in one hand and files in the other, obviously having removed the former and abandoning the latter when she saw her detective. Kate only hoped that meant she was thinking of a lot of conflicting work-related which might save Kate from scrutiny or a reprimand. She was only a half hour late.

She had never been half an hour late before.

"The ADA rescheduled and wants to run over the Lesterman files at 10. The conference room has been cleared."

"Thank you, Sir."

"She was hoping for first thing this morning," Gates continued, her voice trailing off suggestively, allowing her grammar to convey her curiosity. However, when her detective just apologized, she resigned herself to being a little more direct. "Was there some difficulty getting out of bed this morning, Detective?"

Beckett choked a little, very aware she didn't have time to shower. Was it so obvious? Had the Captain seen something? Castle better not have given her a hickey…Maybe she smelt a little like him. Gates was still hoping for a reply to her almost, _almost_ friendly inquiry. "Yes, Sir. It was very…warm."

Hot. It had been hot. She tried not to think about it, not trusting herself to keep the minimal dignity she had left.

"Yes, well as much as we all appreciate a comfortable bed, I like my squad on time. Maybe you should sleep more and wake up on time."

"I sleep," she assured Gates, without thinking, her mouth falling open a little in shock at her own outburst. She heard Ryan choking and a muted pounding, probably Esposito's attempts to save his partner from death by laughter.

"You also put in a lot of overtime," Gates returned. "And while I appreciate your devotion, I don't want you dead on your feet."

"Understood, Sir."

"Good."

…

Kate snatched up her mug and prepared herself to rework the Lesterman files for the ADA, studiously avoiding the two men who had returned to the desks in front of hers. The attention they lavished on the paperwork and data entry was highly suspect. They needed to find some sort of non-verbal communication, because obviously the need to gossip was slowly eating away at their restraint. They knew better than to do it right under her nose however, especially when she hadn't looked through some of the files and decided if they needed to be _redistributed_.

Some things never changed.

At the first taste of coffee, she looked at her phone, annoyed at herself but still curious as to whether the man who got her into this mess had mustered up the dignity to reply.

He had.

Somewhat mollified, Kate flicked past the new text message alert to the message.

_[Depends on the question.]_

Really? Well how about this? She let her thumbs work the screen, still ignoring the now blatant stares of her co-workers.

[Aside from making me late for work and miss an appoint. with the ADA, what is the most annoying thing you've done to me on purpose?]

She sent it off and began spreading out the details to her own timeline and reviewing details of the evidence to be presented to the jury. She thought she would be good at splitting her attention, but she had underestimated just how much she wanted to know his answer. When his face lit up her screen, she dropped the file like a lead balloon and read.

_[That you know about? Or that I did and you blamed on someone else?]_

That sneaky rat. She found herself re-evaluating her list of his possible answers with some glaring new entries coming back like bad Mexican food.

[The most annoying, Castle.]

Any attempts at finding her place in the abandoned file would have been pathetic, a fact Kate accepted with no more than an internal sigh at the bad influence Castle was even in absentia. Only Castle. She slipped her phone into her pocket and took the files with her to the conference room away from scrutiny. She wasn't sure what her reaction to his reply was going to be. What did he consider annoying? Had he been responsible for something she didn't know about?

She paused at the tone of his incoming answer, suddenly not so sure of the answer or how she would react. It was just supposed to be revenge for making her so obviously late. She shook her head and unlocked her phone. He deserved whatever she wanted to dish out; it couldn't be much worse than her encounter with Gates.

_[No-brainer . Getting maintenance to swap the upholstery when you got the car serviced so you got the loose spring, though I like to think of it as retribution.] _

She hadn't even thought about composing a reply to that when a sequel arrived.

_[At least I did, until you drove the car into the Hudson a week later. Oh, and Ryan texted me; he said Gates told you to sleep more.]_

Oh. No. He. Didn't.

…

Maybe if she tried a little further to the left it wouldn't be as uncomfortable. She already knew there was no position which offered complete relief; it was maddeningly central.

"Ants in your pants, Beckett?"

"Shut up, Castle."

He looked out the window quickly but she didn't miss the smile before he hid it in his palm as he rested his elbow on the side of the window. She fought down her own smile at his transparency. It was made a lot easier when she hit a pothole off Lexington and the lump which had been resting against her tailbone worked itself viciously deeper and she shifted in her seat again.

Castle coughed into his hand.

"Shut up, Castle."

"I didn't say anything."

"Uh huh."

They spent another four blocks in silence each looking out different windows. She couldn't remember exercising such active power to make herself sit still since she was a kid. In an attempt to distract herself she counted the number of coffee places lining Lexington.

"It's a nice day for drive, isn't it? I thought we'd be stuck at least five minutes in traffic on East 40th." He still wasn't meeting her gaze. "The mighty traffic God of NYC must like you."

"Since when have you enjoyed car rides?"

"I love the chance to pick your brain in situations where you can't escape or hurt me."

She bit her tongue and the retort as the car bounced their way through another intersection and had to readjust her position. Again. What was with her seat today? She finally gets it back from its service to find they messed with her seat.

With a huff of frustration she pulled over and unbuckled herself, ignoring the questioning look her partner sent her way. Leaning forward, she shrugged out of her jacket and began folding it up. When it was sufficiently wadded, she slid herself to the edge of her seat until she was pressed uncomfortably against the steering wheel and placed the jacket on the seat behind her. When a backward glance assured her it was in position, Beckett sat back on it and squirmed experimentally.

Great. She was officially related to the _Princess and the Pea_. The Princess not the pea. With her jacket as a cushion, it was better, but she could still feel it.

"Something wrong with your seat?" Castle asked.

"No," she replied facetiously, feeling ridiculous. "My lower back is bruised from a takedown in sparring practice last night." There was no way she was going to say she couldn't handle a loose spring in her car seat. That's what Castle did. There was also no way she was going to say she bruised her tailbone; that piece of fiction was more embarrassing than the reality.

It was the equivalent of Swiss cheese, but Castle decided not to poke at the multiple holes.

"Maybe maintenance could take a look at getting some more comfortable seats," Castle suggested lightly, his lips pressed together tightly barely restraining a smile as she re fastened her seat belt. She threw him a small smile in thanks for his acceptance. She figured he of all people understood her literal pain, he had been complaining about a spring in his seat for well over a year.

"Maybe," she granted.

…

**These are kinda fun writing exercises and I don't know how many I'm going to write. If there are any questions you'd like Beckett to ask him, let me know and I'll give them a go. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Not my characters. **

**Have a good New Year.**

**Any ideas are appreciated. Blueorchid96, I'm working on yours now hehe.**

**This one's a little darker. **

In November they were called out of bed to a new scene. It was after six in the morning when they arrived at the scene in Beckett's new undercover, the morning light so bright only weeks earlier already dimmer, the sun more reluctant to rise. But it was still more than light enough to see by. Castle doubted any lighting would make the low rent apartment building they parked in front of look better.

Naked bulbs illuminated the room in a glaring white, sharp enough they both paused a moment on the threshold to allow their eyes to adjust from the calming natural light of the morning waking up, unconcerned outside. Techs filled the small room, only making it smaller. They stepped carefully around equipment and the increasing number of colleagues. Lanie wasn't even visible where they both assumed her to be, crouched confidently at the epicentre.

The push of bodies from behind eventually propelled them forwards and Beckett melted a path through. Photographers in their navy jackets veered around them as they circled for their next shot and other rubber gloved hands took up their positions with graphite and their respective tools of the trade, all in constant shifting motion.

On her heels the smell became more noticeable. It was beyond the smell of bodies in close quarters, beyond any natural odours that one came to expect at a homicide crime scene. It wasn't long before the reason was apparent. His first impression of their latest case was obscured, her features hidden behind wax. Candles framed her, but her entire face was cocooned under a thick layer of the stuff.

The air of the small room was cloying with the scent of cheap wax, excrement and drying blood.

Her features may have been frozen in a parody of peaceful slumber but the gaping knife wounds between her third and fourth ribs and carved symbols in the back of her palms sucked at the bottom of his stomach.

He saw another body, another carving.

Kate's breath caught, and at the sight of the rough pentagram, he turned and exited the room, battling nausea and paranoia.

Later pictures on the murder board would show the altar, the contradictory symbols and the unhinged nature of the assault. Ryan identified all the symbols from Wikipedia, all intrinsically innocent but heretically jumbled but there were still stares.

Because Castle had been accused of a ritualistic murder with a symbol carved into the victim. Because not everyone believed in Castle's team conveniently finding the evidence to clear him. Because some people were just stupid.

He left early, an All Points already issued. DNA, fingerprints and a known obsession with the occult. Case closed.

Her eyes were sore, strained from glaring at the white of the murder board. It was an easy one and she should have been relieved. In a way she was. This case wasn't like Tyson's set up. Even if it were, she was Castle's alibi for last night. Tyson wasn't coming back and he wasn't getting anywhere near Richard Castle.

Her conviction didn't stop her staring at the board, wondering if there was something she wasn't seeing and remembering what Tyson was capable of.

_Kate announced she was driving him home and then she watched him walk away._

_ She thought she had it under control, but then he was hailed by another investigator and she was left alone again. As his shoulders disappeared into the collage of uniforms the thrumming picked up pace again. Little drum beats stirred in the end of her fingers, swirled in the lines and whorls before multiplying and resuming their attack on the rest of her central nervous system until she couldn't sit there anymore. _

_The blue of the pool which had seemed calming only moments before flickered restlessly, no longer seeming alive, blissfully alive to her so much as malcontent and brooding. Angry smears of red flashed across the surface, ricocheting off the aged plaster and paint of this god-forsaken motel. A full half hour later and the sirens were still running, not letting her nerves quiet._

_The sounds used to make her feel secure, that help was in range, but tonight she wasn't thinking like a cop. Some cop she was anyway, she scoffed mentally. How could she not see she was talking to a serial killer?_

_Where was Castle? _

_The plaza was full of light and personnel – probably the busiest it had ever seen. IA was having a field day and still had Ryan in their grip, making him run it through over and over again. Standard protocol. She couldn't see his face, shielded as it was by Capt. Montgomery, but Castle's haunted, guilt ridden face hung just behind the veil of her eyes. While her empathy went out to her fellow team member reliving the experience again, she couldn't help but be grateful that Castle wasn't a cop. _

_All the other rooms of the motel were shut off to them with shuttered windows, curtains hastily drawn in the night to keep out the light and ward off rookie uniform summoned into the late autumn night to canvas for Jerry Tyson. _

_Kate wanted a member from the canine unit down here. She needed a lead; something to do to banish the trembles that were slowly overtaking her. She needed that son of a bitch back in prison where he belonged. Her hand clenched, uncomfortably empty. _

_We know your name, your face. She wanted to think that would be enough, but the defeated tone of Castle's recounting sucked the hope out of her._

_"Changed those before. That's the fun of it." Gloating bastard. _

_Where was Castle? _

_She had been there when he gave his statement. She knew he wasn't comfortable with her presence there and that hurt a little, but she wasn't about to let him out of her sight when adrenaline was still spiking her veins. A partner thing. A quick glance at the cluster of IA showed Esposito was still standing off Ryan's shoulder, his face locked down, but still vibrating with tension and indignation. Esposito had one shoulder and Montgomery had the other. Esposito had been trailing Ryan like a shadow from the moment she had kicked down the door._

_"How close to death do you want to get?" Castle said Tyson had taunted him with those words with Ryan unconscious and bound on the floor. Only Martha's call had side tracked him. Thank God for Martha. _

_She closed her eyes and ran a hand shakily through her hair. _

_The cheap lock on the room hadn't even been fastened, but she hadn't been thinking. The thought hadn't even crossed her mind. Perhaps it was the excess of _everything_ that had her almost screaming at the cars and traffic on her way here. Only Esposito's presence in the car had stopped her from doing just that. After almost turning her ankle on the slippery metal staircase to the room, there was no way she was not going to kick in that door. _

_She couldn't remember feeling that frantic. Ever. Which was confusing enough in its own right. She just needed to get a handle on it and box it away. Which was proving more difficult the longer he stayed out her field of vision. _

_ Her partner, friend had just been held captive by a serial killer. She didn't want to spend any more time tonight wondering where he was. _

_If he was still alive. _

_…_

L.T led their killer out of the interrogation room and uncharacteristically she remained seated, watching him go and struggle against his bonds, infuriated Beckett had tricked him into a confession. Given his medication and mental state, it hadn't been hard.

No, it hadn't been hard, but she had to do it alone.

She dropped her eyes from the man's retreating back, down to the empty chair beside her before she began collecting up her folder and the evidence files.

At her desk, she composed her text. [ You okay?]

_[ I'm good. You coming over?] _

Yeah. She was, wasn't she?

[Yeah.]

…

"When I dropped you home that night, what did you do?" They were cuddled on the couch watching his fire.

"What night? The night Tyson went off the bridge?"

She shook her head against his shoulder. "The first time."

He shrugged. "I had a late dinner with my mother and grilled Alexis about her secret admirer."

His paranoia over who his daughter would be meeting in the park that day seemed almost laughable now. It had been sweet and irritating at the time, his obsessing, but that wasn't exactly unusual. And yet, she remembered it. She had a feeling there was little about that day or the one after that she didn't remember.

She remembered curling into her blanket with thoughts of Ryan and Jenny which flowed into Ryan and Espo at the precinct and how she should have made Espo go with them to see Tyson. Which had reminded her of Castle and how she had dropped him home after a quiet ride and looked back in her rear view mirror to see him standing alone in the halo of his apartment building's lobby light. She remembered thinking that Martha was probably waiting for him. His mother would have called Alexis, and maybe Gina, and he would walk through the door and he wouldn't be alone. Not the way she wanted to be that might. She remembered being happy that Josh wasn't staying over tonight so she could have some time to readjust herself.

That day was stacked carefully in her mental library of days she was never going to forget. His overly casual tone suggested it was permanently bookmarked too.

"You remember what you had for dinner?" she asked him quietly.

His reply was immediate. "Deep fried wantons, beef in black bean sauce, fortune cookies, sweet and sour pork with extra meat, a chilli hotdog and a supreme pizza."

"Celebrating?" she guessed.

"Just the little things in life. How about you?"

"I went home and read _Heat Wave_." Where they had started, because she was still so glad they hadn't ended that night.

"It's a good book," he granted.

"I like the sequels better, but there is something about the start of a journey I love."

…


	4. Chapter 4

**Standard disclaimer.**

**Sorry it took so long, I've been working on an AU fic ( I'll post part of the first chapter at the bottom and you cna tell me that you think).**

**Thanks to blueorchid96 for the prompt, too.**

…

The walk from Broome Street wasn't that bad and armed with sufficient layers, quite pleasant. It wasn't as pleasant as the suggested marathon Castle wanted, but with Alexis home for the holidays, the only benefits of waking early were the waffles and that they could take the time for chivalry.

He was working her to work.

Boxing Day this year had farewelled Christmas Day in much less spectacular fashion than last year. It was almost disappointing. They had both considered the methods of persuasion Castle would pull out to convince her to stay had a blizzard dropped another 32 inches on the city as it had last year. This year had a frosting but lacked the potential for a snow day.

They both wore their scarves rucked up around their ears, trying to avoid the earache that always frolicked behind a good stiff breeze. With her hair free around her face and neck, Kate figured she had it better than her partner whose ears were a painful almost sunburnt pink. She would have to make sure he took a taxi back to the loft.

"There's something depressing about Boxing Day. I don't like it," he puffed out, shoulders drawn up. "The whole city spends weeks and weeks bright, festive and counting down together and then it's all over. I want Christmas back. I think I'm going to start my Advent calendar from Dec 26th from now on."

"The whole city is crazy. Still is crazy. I hope I don't have to go anywhere near the sales or I'll go crazy."

"But that's part of it. The energy."

"Insanity."

"Po-tae-to, Po-tah-to."

"Start your New Year's count down," she compromised. "Under a week to go. Alexis said she was meeting up with Mina so you can stay the night and help me ring in the New Year."

He stopped in the middle of the pavement and stared. "You get New Year's off, too? Is it kosher to say Hallelujah after Christmas?"

"It's not a big deal, Castle," she shrugged, shivering when the movement let some cold air in against her neck. "It's like an unspoken rule; one year on, one year off."

"Oh."

He looked like he was berating himself for not figuring that one out and she kept moving with a smile. He caught her up carefully and all inward chastisement had transferred itself to bouncing energy and anticipation, buttoned down under awkward restraint.

She appreciated it, that he was obviously still thinking seriously about her feelings towards December and January. Buoyed by the best Christmas in over a decade she allowed herself to broach the subject of the future. "What did you do last year?"

"Nothing exciting. Alexis and was out with friends and mother hosted a party at home. My liquor cabinet still hasn't recovered."

"So you stayed on as bar keep?"

"No, though I do make a mean grey goose martini. I watched the ball drop at the Mayor's Ball. Paula had been trying to get me out again because the signings for Heat Rises were finishing up and I had been…less of a presence in the paper since Gina and I broke up."

"Less of a presence? Were there some articles I missed?"

He shucked his shoulders uncomfortably. "You saw the one about us flying up to L.A together that the airline hostess sourced, and we both got a mention in the Baron's interview after the pageant finished up. One mention and a short gossip piece in six months was a bit too thin on the self-promotion field. Paula just wanted to see me out in a good way. That's why she insisted on being my date."

"What do you mean a good way?"

"It's just…" he sighed out a breath, watching the mist immediately fall behind as they pushed forwards. "I don't know if you read the papers, but the internet, bloggers, and the media to some extent, had a field day over Roy's funeral. Paula did her best, but there were leaks."

Oh.

"I read some of it," she admitted.

"I'm sorry. There was really no way to muzzle them about the muse angle."

"It's a free world, right?" The words were sour in her mouth but she stared straight ahead.

"Right," he snorted, his disgust clear. "Apparently, it's good for initial book sales, but overall Paula is convinced scandal and gossip sells more in the long run. All in all, this year will be one I'm both eager and sad to let go."

"It has been memorable."

"Does that mean you'll celebrate with me?"

"First of many, right?" she asked, shy and coy and determined.

…

_[You packed? I'm on my way]_

Kate looked up from her book and flicked off a reply, wanting to finish the chapter before he arrived and she was swept into whatever craziness he had planned for their first New Year's together. [Yes.]

_[Really?] _

She looked up again, marking the spot with her thumb, debating if that even deserved a reply when the tail end came in_.[Pajamas? Toothbrush? I'm not sharing with you, Beckett. Girl cooties.]_

Her eyebrow quirked up even though he wasn't there to see it, her smile stretching out. [I need pajamas? Guess so. Wouldn't want you to catch my girl cooties.]

She didn't bother to pick up Cannel again, already predicting his reply.

_[I love cooties!] _

A laugh bellied out. I. am .good.

[ I would love it if you stopped texting me and started driving. I have my toothbrush, pyjamas and my passport. ]

..

He was adorably red-faced and jittery when she allowed him access to her apartment ten minutes later. She suppressed an evil grin and led him nonchalantly back to the lounge, casually reclaiming her spot on the couch with a fresh cup of coffee.

"That was fast; I hope you weren't texting and driving."

"Only at the red lights," he sounded a little sick.

"Coffee?" she offered brightly, pretending not to notice his preoccupation with the three large suitcases stacked neatly by her coffee table.

"Maybe later," he practically squeaked. "We, we should, ah, probably get going."

"Wouldn't want to miss our flight," Kate agreed, standing and carting her mug off to deposit in the sink. She measured time in footsteps, waiting for Castle to break. Her lips were aching with holding her face into a content smile when all the wanted to do was explore their limits. She made it all the way to kitchen island, skirting her fingers along it the whole way before he spoke.

"Alexis did tell you where we're going, right?"

"Yeah, she called. It's such a shame she's still not feeling better. It's a good thing Martha doesn't mind just keeping an eye on her. She must have really given Max a send off."

It said a lot about his mental state he didn't even blink at the reminder of his daughter's love life.

"Yeah. Hey, Kate…about that last text?"

"Don't worry, Castle. I know how to pack."

She watched him eye the suitcases weakly. "I can see that."

"You'll note the kitchen sink is still in place," she smiled sweetly at him and set her mug down in said appliance. "Okay, ready to go."

"Do you, ah, do you want a land with your luggage?"

Kate stooped and hefted the single small black duffel bag from where she had placed it behind the kitchen island. "I think I can handle it," she waked past easily with the strap over her shoulder, pausing to drop a soft kiss on his open mouth. She opened her door and turned back to find him still in the same spot.

"Hey, Castle, you coming? The next installement of _Hampton Heat_ is waiting. "

...

**Thanks. Here's a little bit from an unpcoming story of mine...still working on the name. I'm thinking ****_A Castle by any other Profession._**

The act opened with an almost offensively loud shatter of pottery as her son tossed his coffee cup. The language as he demanded answers from the detectives working the case was grossly outdated, even for a period piece and the essence of said detectives showed heavy signs of artistic license; unsympathetic and inefficient, they barely registered except to more firmly entrench this P.I in his own personal vendetta for answers.

But where the detectives were insignificant as to be invisible, the P.I was consuming. His grief and denial sat heavily in the back of her throat, making each breath a conscious act of control. Without even seeing his face she could feel the contorting despair and anger. In curious style he didn't dedicate his attention or performance to the audience or to his fellow actors, but claimed his space and used it freely, naturally. He never faced the audience directly, but never ignored them either because they didn't seem to exist to him; caught up in his story. He looked where he wanted, he faced who he wanted to. For a moment she was relieved she never saw the full force of it all on his face.

He took to sleuthing, backtracking his mother's final months with a spectacular hit and miss, unrealistic style that would make Hammett proud. However unlike the refined hero Hammett favoured, this P.I slipped steadily down into the darkness of Noir. Fatigue started to erode him, his shoulders rounding, his movements growing heavier and in a sight that burnt the back of her throat and tongue bitterly, the stereotypical metal flask was no longer concealed in his fedora or in an office desk draw, but tucked into the back of his waist band for easy access. He was a man drowning.

Much like someone watching a train wreck or a building fall in on itself, she couldn't force her eyes away from him, staring long past the point where her eyes began to burn from looking into the bright lights. She forgot she was a homicide uniform. She forgot how to think how poorly the murder remained unsolved, the evidence and anonymous tips impossible in reality. She forgot that the knots being tied and pulled inside her were the shadows she never left behind, ghosts of the wreck of her life and her father's. This actor was dancing along her nerves like a ballroom king, manipulating her like puppeteer.

Who was he?

**Let me know what you think,**

**Cheers**


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